Just Call Me A Renaissance Man
by margaretlynn
Summary: Summary: Just how far will some people go to get ahead? The guys reminisce with Huggy about some of the many jobs he's had over the years.


Just Call Me A Renaissance Man

By margaretlynn

"We're here!" Starsky called out as he and Hutch walked into The Pits. It was only a little after ten o'clock in the morning, so the place was closed and, other than themselves, deserted. "So where's this big surprise you called us over here to see? The one that's gonna make you into the next Howard Hughes?"

"Are you sittin' down?" Huggy Bear's voice called out from his small office behind the kitchen.

The blond and brunet exchanged puzzled glances and sat down at the bar. "Yeah, we're sitting," Hutch answered.

"All right. I'm coming out then. And, before you say anything, just hear me out, okay?"

The partners glanced at each other once more and shrugged. "Sure, Hug," Starsky assured him. "Now, come on! What's the big deal?"

Slowly, Huggy emerged from his office and stepped out into the bar where they could see him. The Metro detectives took one look at their long-time friend and both burst out laughing.

"All right, all right!" Huggy sighed. "It's obvious that you two have a few choice remarks you're dyin' to make, so why don't you just go on and get 'em outta your system?"

"Oh, oh! Hug!" Starsky managed to gasp at last, holding his sides as tears streamed down his face. "Man, I've seen you do some crazy stuff over the years, but this has gotta take the cake!"

"Really, Huggy! I'd've thought you'd outgrown all these 'get-rich-quick' schemes of yours by now," Hutch scolded, shaking his head. "You've got a successful business of your own here, so why would you still want to put yourself through this?"

"Hey! I always say that there ain't no such thing as havin' too much money! And, besides, what's wrong with being versatile?" the black man inquired, trying to put on an air of injured dignity. This only succeeded in sending the brunet off into fresh peals of laughter—an entirely understandable reaction, considering that Huggy was standing there dressed in a bright purple body suit, white boots, yellow tights and a chartreuse cape.

"Versatile?" Hutch shot back, his eyebrows raised in disbelief, as he looked the Bear slowly up and down as if unsure he wasn't hallucinating. "You certainly are that! In fact, I can't think of much you haven't tried. Let's see…since we've known you, you've worked as a travel agent, registered voters, sold everything from watches to anti-vampire kits, glow-in-the-dark religious icons, and pet rocks, been a salesclerk in both a pet store and a magic shop…" he ticked the list off on his fingers as he went.

"Yeah! That last one led to his brief career as 'Huggerino the Supremo'!" Starsky put in. "Magician and Escape Artist Extraordinaire! Remember?"

"How could I forget?" Hutch grinned. "You really might've made a go of that one, Hug! _If_ you hadn't perforated that poor assistant of yours, Bertha, with a sword during your first and only public appearance!"

Starsky snickered and Huggy scowled.

"Oh! Don't forget about the mouse races, Hutch!" Starsky reminded him. "Or all those hours he spent flipping burgers for Joe Collandra, hoping he might somehow pick up some his psychic abilities."

"Okay, okay! I get the picture!" Huggy groused. But his friends were on a roll.

"Hey! How about that time he and Turk decided to open their own P.I. office?" Hutch added.

Huggy shook his head, beginning to become truly annoyed at the teasing. "All right! That's enough!" he declared. "You laugh now, but it was a different story when you wanted me to pull off some weird stunt for _you_ , wasn't it?"

"What 'weird stunts'?" Starsky asked, putting on his best innocent expression.

Huggy made a rude noise. "Don't bat those big blue eyes of yours at _me_ , Starsky! I bet that don't even work on your momma no more!"

Hutch, who'd been taking a sip of his beer at just that moment, snorted and choked violently and it was Starsky's turn to scowl.

"Really, Huggy. We don't know what you're talking about," Hutch croaked once he was able to talk again.

"Oh, you don't, do ya'? Well, what about that time the two of you sent me out posing as a representative from some mortgage company, huh? Or the weeks I spent driving that taxi on Playboy Island! Not to mention that case you had involving that international jewel-thief, the Baron! Then you had me paradin' around, pretendin' I was…"

"Prince Nairobi!" both detectives declared simultaneously.

"That's the one!" Huggy agreed with a self-satisfied nod.

"Okay, okay!" Starsky conceded. "You're right. We got no right to poke fun. And yet, I gotta ask…exactly what are you supposed to _be_?"

Huggy put his shoulders back and threw out his foam padding augmented chest in what he hoped was a heroic pose. "You're lookin' at 'Super Soul Dude', the world's first black superhero! Defender of the meek, champion of the lowly!" he declared grandly, "and rescuer of lovely ladies!" he added with a leer.

His two friends just stared at him for several long seconds before both collapsed once more into fits of helpless mirth.

"Yeah, go on! Yuck it up!" Huggy grumbled. "But I'll have you know that I already got a waitin' list a mile long of parents wantin' me to make an appearance at their little darlings' birthday parties. And, at thirty-five dollars a pop, that's enough to keep _me_ laughin' all the way to the bank!"

That sobered Starsky up in a hurry. "You're really making good money at this?" he asked, suddenly much more interested.

"Uh-oh!" Hutch sighed to himself.

"You bet!" Huggy boasted. "Why, last weekend alone, I made over two hundred dollars, and all for only about six hours of work."

Starsky looked like he was in danger of swallowing his tongue. "Did…did you hear that, Hutch?" he squeaked. "Two hundred dollars! And in only six hours!"

"Yeah, Starsk. I heard," Hutch replied, already dreading where this conversation was heading.

"Well?" Starsky asked, turning to face his partner with wide eyes.

"Well, what, Starsky?"

"Well…just imagine what _we_ could do with that kind of money. We could take nice vacations. You could finally get a decent car! And we both could have a tidy little nest egg to retire on. I mean, face it, Hutch. We're not gettin' any younger! And we already know that the pension the Department's gonna pay us will hardly be enough to keep you in tofu."

"Yeah, I know that, Starsk! But I think I may have a _few_ good years left in me before then," the blond commented dryly, rolling his eyes. Starsky had said it like they would be retiring tomorrow and neither of them was even forty yet. "And, in the meantime, I've been putting a nice chunk of my paycheck into various investments for a long time now. By the time I'm ready to be put out to pasture, the dividends from those should see me through my golden years quite comfortably."

Starsky stared at his partner like he'd never seen him before. " _You've_ been _investin_ '?" he gaped. "When? How? I mean, where do you get the money? I barely have enough to pay all my bills each month! How could you possibly have any left over to invest in anything?"

"I live much more frugally than you do, Starsk," Hutch answered smugly. "I bring my lunch to work most days and cook a lot of my own meals at home. It may not seem like much, but eating out all the time like you do adds up! I bet I save hundreds a year on food alone.

"And another thing! That car of mine that you're always making fun of? Everyone knows that insurance companies charge a lot less for a four-door vehicle than they do for a two-door model. _And_ I only carry liability on it, so it only costs me a _fraction_ of what you have to spend to insure the Tomato each year. And don't even get me started on how much you blow on tires for that thing or on those fancy tune-ups you insist on!"

Starsky reached for his glass and took a long swallow of his beer, suddenly feeling a bit ill. "I don't believe it," he muttered. "I just don't believe it!" he repeated a bit louder. "All these years, you think you know a guy, and then, come to find out, he's been sneaking around, _investin_ ' behind your back! Some pal you are, Hutch! When it comes time to retire, you'll be sittin' pretty while I'll probably hafta sell pencils on some street corner somewhere just so I can eat!"

"What can I say, Starsky? I would have helped you invest, too…but you never seemed interested whenever I tried to bring the subject up."

Starsky stared at him another long moment in silence then finished the rest of his beer in one long gulp. "So," he said conversationally as he carefully set his empty glass on the bar and turned to face Huggy again, deliberately turning his back on his partner in the process. "This superhero of yours…does he have a sidekick?"

"Now that you mention it," Huggy replied, a slow grin starting to spread across his face, "I did have a few ideas about that."

Hutch had to cover his mouth with his hand to keep from laughing out loud. He had, of course, not only put enough aside to insure his own future, but Starsky's as well. From the very beginning, half of the accounts he'd established had been in Starsky's name. More recently, he'd met with his lawyer to put _all_ of the money in _both_ their names. Just as a precaution, so that he could be sure Starsky was taken care of even if, God forbid, something happened and he was left alone to enjoy the benefits of Hutch's foresight.

He had always planned to tell Starsky all of this, of course. And he would…eventually. For now, though, listening to him and their enterprising friend try to come up with possible names for Starsky's proposed character was just too amusing to pass up.

"How about Burrito Boy?" Hutch suggested, jumping back into the conversation. "You could melt the bad guys with your Super Onion Breath! And, if that didn't work, you could always get 'em with your secret Toxic Gas Attack!"

"You stay out of this!" Starsky retorted and turned back to face Huggy once more. "We can work all that out later. Right now, let's talk about my costume. _I_ can see me in a red suit with a black cape and boots and a big white letter on my chest."

"No way! We'd clash too much! The hero can't clash with his sidekick! No, what _I_ had in mind was more something in green and blue with white tights and…"

"Wait a minute!" Starsky protested. "Nobody said nothin' about tights!"

"Of _course_ you gotta wear tights! All superheroes wear tights!"

"But I'm not the hero, I'm just the sidekick!"

"Don't make no difference, ya' still got to wear 'em! Now, shut up and listen…"

Hutch shook his head, smiling to himself as he got up and went behind the bar to pour himself another beer. He refilled Starsky's glass, too…not that his partner ever noticed. He and Huggy were too deeply engrossed in their plans. Every minute, it seemed the possibility of getting to see his favorite curly-haired irritant don a cape and tights to spend his next day off entertaining a crowd of rowdy six- to eight-year-olds was coming closer and closer to being a reality. And that was something Hutch didn't plan to miss for all the money in the world.


End file.
